


we're too close to be out of touch

by andthatscanon



Category: Gossip Girl (TV 2007)
Genre: F/M, blair gets to keep her cute nose tho, blair/serena too if you squint, chuck is irrelevant, minor dan/serena and nate/blair, this is my try at a cyrano de bergerac retelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29615043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthatscanon/pseuds/andthatscanon
Summary: Instead of creating Gossip Girl, Dan actually writes Serena a love letter.
Relationships: Dan Humphrey/Blair Waldorf, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 49





	1. I'm alive/I feel it now

**Author's Note:**

> so, I had this idea and I thought I could get it out in like 1-2k words (because I'm dumb), but I now have a doc with 10k words and this is after I decided to cut dan's pov. I just know I'll never finish unless I share it (so I can be held accountable for my actions), so here it is

It starts soon after Kati’s birthday party. 

Serena holds what would be the first of many love letters like some sort of prize, sitting on top of their table in the dining hall, showing it off to everyone who would like to see it. Blair doesn’t get what’s the big deal about it. A long-legged blond heiress being adored just because she is a long-legged blond heiress shouldn’t be news anymore. Although Paris Hilton seems to be doing well milking that particular cow still.

That doesn’t mean Blair isn’t curious, though. So, she snatches the letter from Serena’s hand.

“The paper is cheap and the penmanship is atrocious,” she says.

“But what about what it says, B?” Serena asks as she gets down from the table and sits between Blair and Isabel. “It’s really nice, isn’t it?” 

“I _guess_ nice is a way to describe it,” Blair says with false disdain. She should have known, if anyone could make a teenage boy write poetry, it would be Serena. Still, Blair can’t help the way she feels. She always wanted to be the receiver of the kind of devoted adoration that leads to someone immortalizing you in prose, and she knows that is something Nate can never give her. She has made amends with that, with the fact she will never be a muse, but it doesn’t make the dark green feeling in the depth of her stomach go away; the jealousy she feels towards Serena is always there, half-sleep. “Comparing your hair to the sun is very fitting, I suppose. Looking directly at it would hurt my eyes to the point of blindness.”

“Will you write him back?” Penelope asks, moving closer to Blair, in an attempt to read the verses about Serena.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Serena retrieves the letter from Blair’s hand as she says so. She may have known Penelope for almost as long as she has known Blair, but Penelope isn’t Blair and, as per Serena's logic, that means she isn’t allowed to analyze the verses about her long legs, otherworldly smile, and golden aura. “There’s no signature or address or anything, really.”

“When did you become such a pessimist? If you really want to know who sent you this, there is a way,” Blair smirks and her eyes twinkle with the prospect of a good scheme. “We just need to get some writing samples from all the boys at St. Jude's and see which one is a match. Iz, can you get me the contact of that graphologist we used to fake Serena’s mother’s signature? We should get a sample from the girls at Constance too, just to be safe. Even though I doubt any of our peers would have such disregard by the English language to the point of writing in a hieroglyph-like form.” 

“We don’t need to turn this into CSI: Constance, Blair,” Serena says, carefully hiding the letter between the thick pages of her Chemistry book.

“Then you can just remember who you talked to at Kati’s birthday party since that’s where the secret admirer says he met you,” Blair barely gives Serena time to say something before she continues. “Oh, wait. Weren’t you so drunk you forgot to have even attended the party?” 

“B, come on.”

“I’m just saying. We can’t count on your memory so, if you want to know who is the Edgar Poe to your Annabel Lee, that’s the way.”

“Wasn’t the thing with Annabel Lee that she was dead?” Hazel asks, only to be ignored by all of them.

“So, S,” Blair rests her chin on her hand, in a gesture of cutesy naïveté that somehow doesn’t clash with the devious look in her eyes. “What’s gonna be?” 

*

It takes Blair less than two days to come up with a name.

“Daniel Humphrey,” she says to Serena in between the second and third period. “Or _Dan_ , as he prefers to be called."

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your secret admirer,” Blair says, as if it is obvious. “He’s the scholarship boy.” 

“That was fast.”

“Well, I can count on my hands the number of boys at St. Jude's who knows what limerence is and how to use it in a sentence, so it wasn’t like we had that big of a sample to go through.” 

Serena leans on the wall and bites on her lip, in what Blair can only assume is an attempt to not pout. “It seems kinda wrong, don’t you think? Trying to find out who he is.”

“I’m not trying, I did find out who he is,” Blair sighs, already tired of Serena’s ever-changing morals. “Besides, it’s only fair; he knows who you are, after all.”  
  
“But maybe he is a secret admirer for a reason.”

“Yes, and the reason is that he is too much of a coward to talk to you in person.” 

The bell rings and Serena straightens herself up, tosses her hair one way and another, becomes the picture of dishevelment.

“So now what?”

“Now you write him a nice rejection letter. Double-spaced. And in cursive, of course,” Blair says, the way she would do if she were dealing with a toddler.

“What if I don’t want to reject him?”

“Then I guess first we should go to your doctor and get you an MRI. The rejection can wait. You heard he is here on a scholarship, right?” 

*

Serena finds Blair pressed into the brick wall beside the stairs of Constance, Nate’s tongue inside her mouth. 

“You have to do it,” she says, not really worried about interrupting their very public display of affection. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Blair asks, detangling herself from Nate just enough to look at Serena. Although Nate still keeps Blair’s waist firmly under his hands, his eyes can’t help but wander towards Serena.  
  
“Write Dan back. You have to do it.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because,” she explains. “You are the one who started this whole thing about discovering who he was. It’s your cross to bear now.”

“What is going on?” Nate asks, thoroughly confused. 

“Serena has an admirer,” Blair turns to him, pats his cheek affably. “That’s all.”

“Then what’s with all the fuss?” he narrows his eyes, a gesture that often indicates he doesn’t understand what is going on. “I mean, I’m sure he is not the first one. Why bother?”

“Of course he’s not the first one, she is _Serena van der Woodsen_ ,” Blair sighs and rolls her eyes, over the whole thing already. “Why don’t you do it yourself? If you’re worried about your writing abilities I bet that, just like with everything else, you will find you have an innate talent for it.” 

“That’s not true, B,” Serena says, earnest. 

“I’m sure your grocery list could get you a Pulitzer nomination. If you did your own grocery shopping, that is.” 

“I just — I don’t know. I don’t think I can write like he does.”

“Like a pretentious, intellectual snob?” 

“Yes! You get it!” 

Blair looks at her hands, busy playing with the lapels of Nate’s blazer, as she ponders. “Well, I am looking for a charity case, and letting the Humphrey boy down gently may just be it.” 

“It’s not a rejection letter,” Serena reaches for Blair’s shoulders and squeezes it to get her attention. “It’s a thank-you-slash-maybe-write-me-again letter.” 

“Oh,” Blair lets go of Nate’s lapels and gently pats his chest, signaling him he ought to move. Which, to his merit, he does. “Then I have no interest in it.”

“But you have to do it!” 

Blair leans down to pick up her purse and puts it securely over her shoulder. “What I have to do is go to class. Maybe get a head start on Thanksgiving planning with my dad. _Definitely_ not write sonnets about someone I don’t know.” 

“B, please,” Serena holds her by her purse, which works not only to stop Blair but also to give her an idea. “You can have my Birkin.”

“The pink one?” Blair asks and Serena nods. “Okay, _fine_. But I get to take the original letter home.” 

*

“Guess what your secret admirer is doing,” Blair teases and offers Serena her handheld mirror. 

“What?” Serena asks as she uses the mirror to see the courtyard in the reflection, waiting for Blair’s answer.

“Admiring you, obviously.” 

“Which one is him?” 

“I could just say 'the one looking at you', but that wouldn’t really narrow it down,” Blair helps Serena angle the mirror just right, so she can see Dan. “That’s him. The one looking out of place.” 

Serena closes the mirror and looks at Blair, a playful smirk on her face. “He’s cute.”

“I guess he has good facial structure. The hair, however, is a lost cause.”

“Why doesn’t he come to talk to me?” Serena pouts. “He could do it, I’m not scary at all. I’m not like you.”

“You shouldn’t bother,” Blair brushes aside the comment and forcefully takes the mirror from Serena’s hand, quickly putting it away in her purse. “Besides, you should enjoy the fact he is keeping it to himself. There’s an inherent romanticism in the yearning, don’t you think?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Since when does Blair Waldorf _yearn_?” Serena turns to Blair, pointedly looking at her. “If you want something, you go after it.”

Blair smacks her lips together. Serena is not entirely wrong, but she is not entirely right either. Blair has always longed for things she can’t have; things that are Serena’s. 

“He’s still looking,” she finally says. “He must want something. Although if it’s not talking to you…” Blair briefly looks at Dan, wondering what he might want. For some reason, doing that makes her blush. “Have you checked your locker lately?” 

“No. Why?”

“I think lover boy may have answered you.” 

*

“Serena, give it to me,” Blair says as she reaches for Serena, who is laying on her bed, a letter pressed close to her chest. Serena doesn’t falter, though, and rolls on the mattress until she traps the paper between her body and the bedsheets. “That’s stupid. I can’t answer his letter if you don’t let me read it!” 

“It’s that it is… It’s so personal.” Serena gets up and lovingly runs her hands over the object of discussion, smoothing the wrinkles. She turns to face Blair, her eyes big and earnest. “He sees me, B.”

“Yes, as does everyone with functioning eyes,” Blair answers as she sits by her desk, tired of fighting when she is doing Serena a favor. “You’re hard to ignore.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” 

Blair does, actually. How could she not when she had been on this charade for almost a month? When, even though Dan addresses his letters to Serena, Blair is the one he actually sees? 

Serena never even bothered to actually read what Blair wrote to the Humphrey boy, only caring to know the words written about her. She doesn’t know that Blair hasn’t been personifying her, hasn’t even tried. All Blair wrote, since the beginning, was how she felt. It had been so liberating to talk without restraints, not having to put one of her carefully crafted masks, a different one for each occasion. 

And it was even better than therapy because she didn’t have to hold anything back like she does with Dr. Herman. This particular boy could never hold anything she wrote against her. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t; he doesn’t even know he is talking to her, after all. 

It was like she could submit herself to the mortifying ordeal of being known without it being such a mortifying ordeal.

“And if you want to keep being seen, you need to let me read that letter so I can write an appropriate response to it.” 

Serena huffs but gives the letter to Blair, even if begrudgingly so. 

Sporting her victory smile, Blair takes the letter and carefully lies it on her desk, ready to devour it.

 _To my dear Serena_ , it reads. 

Blair turns on her chair to look at Serena, who is too busy braiding a small section of her hair to notice how Blair’s heart has been wounded. She couldn’t help thinking that once again, without even trying, Serena had what she wanted.

*

With the holidays just around the corner, Blair’s duties as Serena’s messenger come to a halt. It’s not only that she wouldn’t have time to write, but also that Serena takes her two-month winter vacation around that time - just after Thanksgiving at the Waldorfs - and it would be weird if she kept corresponding with Dan when out of the country. 

That’s why, when Thanksgiving comes, is a surprise that her first in-person interaction with Dan also comes with it.

Especially when that interaction starts when Blair catches him holding a not all there Serena, who had just run away from her grasp. She is so surprised to see him there, to see them together, that she snaps. 

“My savior,” she hears Serena saying to a star-struck Dan. A box of what once was perfectly good pie on the ground. 

“What are you doing?” Blair asks as she snatches Serena away from his grasp. “Taking advantage of her on the holidays, tsk,” Blair adds, with the kind of bark that is supposed to be playful and not show that she can bite, too. 

Dan doesn’t seem to know if she is messing with him or if she is really mad, and she has to remind herself that he doesn’t really know her. That he doesn’t think he knows her, at least, and wouldn’t know when she is joking. 

“No, B, it’s Dave. From the letters!” Serena says, all smiles and glossy eyes. If even Serena didn’t get Blair was supposed to be joking, then how could Dan? But then, Serena _is_ hammered, so Blair tries not to dwell on all of that.

“His name is Dan,” Blair corrects, not at all surprised that Serena didn’t remember but, at the same time, kind of surprised she didn’t. Blair assumes that it’s not an unforgivable offense; Serena isn’t the one writing _Dear Dan_ once every two days for almost two months, after all. 

“Is this your pie?” she nods to the box on the ground, more than ready to move along the conversation and leave before she - or, more probably, Serena - says something that reveals way too much. Dan, God bless him, just nods. “You should be more careful,” she adds as she pulls Serena away, already signaling to get a cab. 

“I was too busy trying to not get her ran over,” is his answer, and it all makes a little more sense to Blair now. It doesn’t mean she approves their interaction even a bit, though. So, she gives him a once-over and puts on her mean girl act.

“For a knight in shining armor, you sure have lackluster shoes,” she says as she pushes Serena inside the cab, leaving Dan alone and confused in the middle of the road. 

It takes everything in her not to look back. 

*

After New Year’s, on their first day back to school, the first thing Blair does is deliver Dan a letter. 

This one a special request by Serena, the only time she actually cared about what Blair wrote to Dan. It isn’t her best work, not by a mile, but it gets the job done. Only twelve words are enough to get her point across, after all. Well, Serena’s point. 

On the folded piece of paper she leaves at his locker it’s written: 

_your hair is a mess_

_your poetry terrible_

_let’s go out Friday_


	2. I never knew I’ll find it on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg, the response for this was so much better than i expected! thank you all for the kind words! you're all the best!

It’s a disaster.

“You told me to talk about Fitzgerald!” Serena says just right before the first period, pinning all blame on Blair. 

“Not _well_!” Blair bites back. She would never admit, but she was actually happy the date didn’t go well. Having known both of them - albeit in different ways -, she was sure Serena was too good for Dan and that Dan was also too good for Serena. 

“And he kept bringing up this haiku thing—“

“It was a senryu, actually.”

“Whatever,” Serena leans on the wall and sighs. “It was awful. It was like… I don’t know, I felt we weren’t the same people we are in the letters.”

Blair contorts her face, trying her hardest not to roll her eyes. Clearly the reason Serena felt they weren’t the same people they are in the letters is because they are not the people in the letters.

“You need to do something, B. Write something. Fast.” Serena straightens herself up, resolute. “We need to turn this around.” 

“Maybe it would be better to just stop it altogether, don’t you think? You tried, it didn’t work, now move on.” Blair reasons. “Maybe try it again with someone more like you. You know, like Benjamin Bucks.”

“The swim team captain?” Serena asks, frowning. “What do you mean with someone more like me?”

“What, are you really gonna tell me he’s not your type? _Male_?”

Serena’s face sours in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. She soon recovers her composure and looks at Blair. She deliberately puts her hand on Blair’s shoulders, grounding her in her place.

“I may have exaggerated a bit. It wasn’t as catastrophic as I made it seem to be,” Serena gives Blair a condescending smile, one that she has perfected over the years. “He’s a pretty good kisser.”

*

“Blair, right?” 

Blair is caught by surprise by a deep voice calling her name. It sounds familiar, but she can’t quite figure out why until she turns and sees Dan, all earnest smile and kind eyes, looking at her. 

“You know very well who I am. Question is,” she purposefully takes her time adjusting her glittery headband, in an attempt of taking the high ground in the conversation. “Who are you and why do you think you can talk to me?” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to schedule a meeting with your majesty,” Dan squints, the sun shining on Blair's headband just right to blind him. “And you know who I am. Thanksgiving, remember?” 

“I don’t recall you at all,” she lies easily. “I guess you’re just not remarkable enough to make an impression.”

Dan gives Blair a pained smile and, for a brief moment, she feels regret for what she said. So she bottles it up, like she usually does. 

“Serena must have told you about me then,” he tries. 

“Serena has a new boy every week,” she pushes the knife deeper. If she was honest with herself, which she rarely is, she would recognize why. “I can’t possibly be asked to remember all of them.”   
  
“Come on, Blair,” he tries. 

“ _Fine_! I know who you are,” she whisper-shouts, not wanting to call any attention to them. It’s one thing to talk to him through the letters; it’s another thing entirely to do that in the hallways of Constance, where people can see them. “Humphrey, the scholarship boy.” 

Somehow, he just smiles again. Like if what she said was funny. Like if it didn’t really hurt him, the way it was supposed to.

“I prefer Dan, actually.”

“I don’t care,” she says and then looks him up, looking for a flaw, any flaw. “What do you want? Quickly, before that scarf you are wearing makes me barf,” she changes her weight from one foot to another, preparing for the final blow. “What’s even the point of attending St. Jude's when your passion clearly lies on selling used cars, as this thing proves?” 

Dan looks down, seemingly unfazed by her words, and tenderly touches the garment. 

“My best friend — Well, I guess ex-best friend now, gave me this.” 

“I understand. If Serena ever gave me something that hideous, I would also no longer consider her to be my best friend.” 

“No, that’s not it. She moved — It doesn’t matter, actually.” Dan looks at her, unsure. “I wanted to talk about Serena.” 

“Of course, you’re just like any other boy, running after the best friend in hopes to get some intel,” Blair sighs and starts with the monologue she memorized for this exact situation. “Serena is a Dior girl, but will wear Chanel if the occasion demands. She spent last summer in Italy and now is obsessed with Vespas. She says she eats everything, but actually hasn’t had bread since middle school. She —”

“That’s great, really, but it’s not what I want.” 

Blair stops, looks at him pointedly. 

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t know, actually. I’m not sure what Serena told you, but our first date was a disaster and I would really like our next one not to be. I was planning on having dinner at Jean-Jacques and then going for a movie, but I’m second guessing all of my decisions now,” he is back to smiling, although the insecurity is still there. “I thought I knew her, but I guess I don’t. Definitely not like you know her. So I’d really appreciate some help.”

“You mean you thought you knew her because of the letters?” Blair asks, softly.

Dan comes up with another smile, a boyish half smirk that, if Blair wasn’t Blair, would have made her blush. “I _knew_ you knew who I was.”

Blair rolls her eyes, conceals a smile of her own. “Your idea is very nice, but not very Serena,” she takes a deep breath, pondering between helping him or not. “Honestly, you would score more points with her by taking her to a seedy bar and supplying her with booze.”

Dan narrows his eyes, wondering if he heard that right.

“We are minors, though. We are not legally allowed to drink.”

Blair looks at him and gives him a smile full of mock sweetness. 

“You’re funny,” she pats his arm and then leaves.

*

“You look marvelous, dear,” Eleanor says as she zips Blair up. “Thank god I had the foresight to increase the waistline. The original would definitely not fit you.” 

“Well, I am growing, mother,” Blair say as she moves her hands on the skirt of the dress, getting rid of all the non-existent creases.

“More than in one direction, it seems.”

Blair turns away from the mirror, too uncomfortable to even look at her own face.

“Where is daddy taking you?” she asks as she watches her mother sit on her bed.

“Your father is in a business trip. You know that.” 

“Yes, but I thought he would be back in time for Valentine’s Day.”

“Valentine’s on Monday,” Eleanor points out.

“But no one is going to celebrate it on Monday!”

“Then I guess I just won’t celebrate it at all.” 

Blair notices the sadness in her mother’s eyes, how she forlornly plays with her wedding band.

“Mother?” Blair moves closer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

“You should go. Nate won’t wait for you forever.”

Blair nods, picks up her purse and moves to the door.

“Oh, Blair?”

“Yes, mother?” 

“Be careful with the dress, will you?”

“Of course, mother.” 

*

Blair holds her fork precariously, lazily moving her food one way or another, a trick she learned pretty young to make it seem like she ate more than she actually did. Not that she could eat anything, even if she wanted. The pretty little red thing her mother made is so tight that even one bite could rip the seams apart.

Anyway, it’s not like Nate would notice - the dress or the fact that she is not eating. Nate has many qualities, paying attention to her is just not one of them.

“So… How’s Lacrosse going?” 

“It’s great. We go against Linton next week, and it’s like, certain we are going to kick their asses,” Nate answers, wholeheartedly. “What about you? Being co-captain with Serena must not be easy for you.”

“It is, actually. I don’t have a problem sharing, as long as I decided to do it as opposed to being forced.”

“Right.” 

“Nate…” she trails, not exactly sure what she wants to talk about, only knowing it’s not this. 

“Yeah?”   
  
Blair wonders when she stopped sharing her problems with Nate. She supposes it was around the time her problems became bigger than finding new ways to stay up after curfew, worried her father would catch her awake under her covers, a flashlight illuminating whatever Jane Austen book she was rereading that time.

“Nothing. Never mind,” she smiles softly and goes back to playing with her food. 

That night, she writes Dan about how she thinks her father is having an affair.

*

Blair’s Monday starts with a rather scruffy boy blocking her pathway.

“Thank you,” Dan says.

“For gracing you with my presence? Because it doesn’t seem like I have a choice in the matter,” Blair says, putting her hands on her hips.

“For the tip about where to take Serena, actually. It was very useful; we had a very pleasant date. I’m sure she already told you all about it, of course.” 

She hadn’t. In fact, until now, Blair wasn’t even aware Dan had asked Serena again, let alone the date had taken place.

“Of course.” 

“Mm,” he purses his lips and furrows his brows. He is fidgety in a way she hadn’t seen any another boy be before, all so sure of themselves all the time. He then reaches for his backpack and retrieves a badly wrapped rectangular package that he hands her. “This is for you. A token of my appreciation.” 

Blair raises her left eyebrow just slightly so, as intrigued as she is suspicious. Still, she takes the package. 

After she gets rid of the offensive wrapping paper and the miles of scotch tape, she is met with a disembodied face floating above the lights of New York; two sad eyes looking straight at her.

“Are you sure you can afford giving gifts to people you barely know?”

“It’s amazing how much you can save by living in Brooklyn instead of the Upper East Side _and_ having a scholarship. Besides, I didn’t have to break my piggybank to take Serena out, so I could splurge those ten dollars on you,” he smiles at her, sheepishly. “And I think I know you enough.”

Blair looks at the book, holds it firmly with one hand as she caresses the cover with the other, doing all she can not to smile.

“I hate this book, actually,” she looks at him, who doesn’t seem fazed by her words. “It’s aesthetically overrated, psychologically vacant, and morally complacent. _This Side of Paradise_ is superior in every single front.”

“So I’ve been told. But part of me still hoped you would appreciate a story about old money, terrible people, and convoluted moral logic.” 

“You’re right. How could I not enjoy be preached at, heavy plot, heavy symbolism and zero psychological motivation?”

Dan smiles, wider this time. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, and leaves.

*

Dan is onto her, Blair thinks.

She has her back against the bathroom door - something she would never do in normal circumstances -, her chest heaving in pained breaths, Geometry class long forgotten.

The book in her hands feels like it weights much more than a few ounces. Just holding it almost burns her hand.

It’s just too much of a coincidence. He has to be onto her. 

But well, if that’s the case, she is ready to end with the charade. She is ready for the denouement. She is not the one who has anything at stake here; she has nothing to lose. 

She can’t possibly lose something that it is not hers.


	3. out of line we got ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're all the best! hope you like this one <3

Dan is not onto her, as it turns out. Otherwise, Serena would not have behaved the way she did at lunch, sitting on top of their table at the dining hall and gushing about the incredible valentine’s date she had with him to whoever wanted to hear. 

“I mean, what kind of sociopath would go on a date with a person while stringing someone else along?” Blair asks as she supervises Dorota on the spring cleaning of her closet.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, miss Blair,” Dorota answers, amid a pile of faux-fur coats. “Keep or sweep?”

Blair taps a finger on her chin, deep in thought. Then, “I know what you’re thinking and, for the record, what I’m doing is not the same thing. I’m just helping a friend. That’s it.” She says and falls to her bed, exhausted. “Keep.”

Dorota carefully puts the coat on the freestanding coat hanger, brought in specifically for that purpose, and doesn't pay attention to the inner machinations of Blair’s mind.

“But then, that means that Humphrey did just gave me a book as a thank you and not as part of an elaborating scheme to see me crack,” she sits up, her mind going a mile a minute. “Which makes no sense because no one is _that_ nice - unless they are trying to cover something up. So it goes back to him possibly being a sociopath.”

“Which one is a Humphrey?” Dorota asks, lifting a coat and looking helplessly lost. "This one?"

“He is just a guy Serena is going out with,” Blair dismisses it with her hand. “Who is possibly the biggest dumbass to have ever existed because he doesn’t seem to realize there’s a difference between letter-Serena and real-life-Serena.”

“Love and hate are just points on the same circle,” Dorota says, reaching for another coat.

“That’s not the saying at all,” Blair retorts. “And who said anything about hate?” she stops. “Or love, for that matter? I’m just worried for Serena. I don’t want her to settle for someone so under her league, especially when she could have anyone else. Literally, anyone else. _Anyone_.“

Dorota lifts a brow and Blair quickly moves to look at herself in the mirror, avoiding her.

“Enough of this, Dorota. You need to learn how to keep it to yourself, honestly," Blair takes her headband off, puts another one in its place. "Besides, it's all fine. Actually, it’s all great; perfection, even. Humphrey is not supposed to be onto me. He is not supposed to even entertain the idea that Serena is not the one writing the letters,” she turns to look back at Dorota, a fake smile plastered on her face. “So it’s fine.”

“Miss Blair, remember what psychologist said about denial?”

Never losing eye contact with Dorota, Blair walks to neatly folded pile of clothing. With the mischievousness of a cat, she knocks it down.

“I changed my mind about all of them. Let’s start over.”

Dorota forces herself not to roll her eyes, picks up a coat and shows it to Blair. “Keep or sweep?”

Blair shakes her head, waits for Dorota to pick the next one.

Because it’s fine. 

It is.

It will be, if she repeats it enough. 

*

“A double date?” Blair asks as she looks over Serena’s nail polish box, trying to pick something for her. “That’s the worst idea you’ve ever had and yes, I’m including that winter you wanted to go skinny-dipping when we were in Aspen.” 

“What can I say?” Serena says, applying the gold hue on her nails without even looking up at Blair. “Love makes you want to do crazy things.” 

“Love?” Blair drops her two choices - maroon and glittery copper -, startled. “Serena, you’ve known this guy for just a few months. Only talked to him a handful of times. You can’t possibly be in love!” 

“That’s not true,” Serena finishes applying her nail polish and drops the container on the box, haphazardly, like does with everything. “We talked a lot. Through the letters.” 

“It’s not the same. I meant face to face.” 

"I know what you meant. It's just that letters allowed us to connect in a way it wouldn't have been possible otherwise," she brings her hand to her face, blows on her nails. “I told you about our date, it was perfect. He sees the real me and I see the real him, B.”

“Right,” Blair finally decides on a nudish pink, a safe choice. As a last resort, she tries, “Nate will never agree to that.” 

“Of course he will. I will ask him.”

*

They sit, all four of them, at a booth at Raoul’s. The low-hanging lamp and intimate setting creating a much more romantic aura than what Blair is prepared to deal with.

“So,” Nate tries to start a conversation, “you play lacrosse, right?” 

“Me?” Dan points to himself, his eyes almost bulging out of its sockets in surprise, and Blair has to conceal a smile. After all, who else would Nate be talking to? “No. No, no, no. I don’t.” 

“Really?” Nate looks at him for a couple of seconds. The way he furrows his brows and moves his eyes from side-to-side makes Blair wonder if he had smoked before meeting them. It would explain why he ordered two burgers, at least. “Man, I think I was mixing you up with Matt. It’s the buzzcut. Hair is like, 90% of how I recognize someone.” 

“That’s okay,” Dan says. “I don’t play anything, actually. Well, except for piano.”  
Serena reaches for his hand on top of the table, loops it through hers. 

“You have very nice hands,” she smiles brightly, eager to join the conversation. 

Dan looks at her, a bit confused. “Um, thanks.” 

There’s then a lull in the conversation; a stiff silence that makes it all so incredibly awkward Blair even thinks about ordering more food. At least then she would have something to do instead of keeping up with a square, uncomfortable smile. 

Serena eyes her pointedly, as if it’s her fault it’s all going horribly wrong. As if she didn’t warn Serena that was a bad idea. As if Blair is the one who has to do something. 

“Don’t you think,” Dan reaches to Blair’s hand, one finger softly tapping her palm to get her attention. “it’s funny how two people can have the same idea at the same time?” 

When Blair raises her eyebrows at him, he continues. “They are filming another movie about Capote writing _In Cold Blood_. _Infamous_.”

“Oh, right, I’ve heard about that. It is a shame it will come after _Capote_. It could be the best movie in the world, but most people won’t even give it the time of the day. Because _Capote_ came first.” 

“And Hoffman got the Oscar for it, so you know that even if the other guy has a performance of a lifetime, he will be majorly ignored. People don’t tend to give the time of the day for the second one in cases like that.”

“What are you two talking about?” Nate asks. 

“Capote wrote _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ ,” Serena answers him.

“Actually, he wrote the book _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ is based on,” Blair corrects and Serena rolls her eyes, mouthing 'whatever' as she does so.

“Blair is obsessed with _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ ,” Nate adds. 

“I wouldn’t say obsessed.” 

“Then what would you say?” Dan asks.

“Well,” she smirks at him, “ _not_ obsessed. Fascinated, perhaps.”

“Ah, the classier way of saying obsessed, of course.” 

“Do you think it should have won? _Capote_ , I mean.”

“The Oscar?” he rolls his eyes. “Honestly, I would rather it went to anything else over _Crash_. If not even the director of the film thinks it deserved it, then it clearly should not have won. I would even argue that the nominated spot should have gone another movie. Although now that I brought that up, I’m afraid you will lobby for _Pride and Prejudice_.”

“Someone here does like to stereotype, doesn’t he?” Blair rests her chin on her hand, the image of a girl so sweet it could fool anyone into thinking she wasn’t always ready for battle. “But Wright’s modernization, although well-intentioned, falls up short. He cuts way too much of the story to focus on the main romance.”

“He has to cut something, though. And wouldn’t the main romance be what’s most important to keep?” 

“Well, yes. But what he does is to cut the mundane part, when Darcy and Lizzie are getting to know each other. When they really fall in love. In his version, you can’t really feel the progression. The love wasn’t there and then it was.”

“But is it really necessary? You can feel they are in love and fill in the gaps.”

Blair smacks her lips, ready for the fatal blow.

“There’s also no wet shirt scene. And that simply can not be forgiven.”

“The book also doesn’t have it."

Blair raises one finger, purses her lips slightly so, looking so damn cute as she does it. “Austen is allowed one mistake.” 

Before Dan can add anything else, Serena slaps the table, getting everybody’s attention. “The food!” she screeches, pointing at the server closer by, and looking more than just a bit remorseful for her double date idea. 

Nate dives in on the food and so does Serena while Blair takes her time rearranging her plate. Dan thoroughly ignores his, not letting Blair off of their conversation so easily, and brings up the year’s awards again.

Weirdly enough, that prompts Nate to put his arms around Blair, a gesture more territorial than he has ever been with her but that, ultimately, does nothing to stop Dan from moving forward, elbows on the table showing his lack of etiquette, and continuing with their debate. 

“Actually, I was cheering for _Brokeback Mountain_ ,” Blair discloses.

“Really?”

“Why the surprise? Can’t a girl enjoy some homoeroticism from time to time?”

Dan leans back in the booth, a smirk on his face.

“Of course. My apologies.” 

*

Blair waits for Nate outside, tapping her foot rhythmically, annoyed with his delay. Her cheeks are painted a deep pink, and she blames the February cold for it, pretending to ignore that, just a few feet away, Dan and Serena are arguing about who paid the check. Somehow, she doesn’t feel as cold as she should.

But then, Serena smiles coyly, kisses Dan, and they leave hand in hand, as if all is forgotten. Blair shivers from the cold. 

When Nate arrives with her coat and puts it around her shoulders, all she does is smile at him, hoping to hop into her car and leave the premises as soon as possible. Nate, however, seems to have a different idea in mind.

“What was that?” he asks.

“What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb. That’s one thing you most definitely aren’t.” 

“I honestly don’t know what you are talking about, Nate.”

“You and Serena’s…” he falters, looking for the right word, “guy.”

Blair has the want to tell that Dan doesn’t belong to Serena, but she bites her tongue and goes with something else.

“I was trying to make him feel welcome. Serena asked me to do so. She wants us to be friends.”

“There’s a pretty big difference between welcoming someone and shamelessly flirting.”

Blair huffs and moves a strand of her hair, nonchalantly. 

“If you think that was flirting, you'd call what I do with my literature professor foreplay.” 

The entire conversation could have been dropped right then and there, but Blair decides against it. 

“I see things too, Nate,” she says, and Nate has to look away, not able to bear her gaze. “And unless you changed your entire personality in the last ten minutes and became someone who actually talks about things, you better keep quiet.”

Nate sighs, kicks the cobblestone path, deflects. 

“I don’t want to fight with you, Blair.”

“Just like I imagined, you didn’t change,” she holds her coat closer, the cold hitting her stronger than before. “Let’s just go.” 

Nate nods, and in silence, walks her to her car. 

*

“Hey,” she feels Dan behind her before she hears him. “I had a really good time last night.” Blair closes her lockers and turns, only to find Dan closer than she expected.

He takes a step back, gives her space.

“I didn’t have a chance to say it before,” he adds.

“I’m going to take a chance and say you’re not including your fight with Serena on your good time.” She narrows her eyes. “Unless you’re some kind of masochist.” 

“No, I’m not,” he falters, thinking. “And that’s for both statements. I meant strictly the indoors part of the event.” Blair smiles, and it seems to give him some sort of signal, perhaps. “We should do it again sometime. The _Brooklyn Noir Film Festival_ starts next week and I know you don’t really care for noir, but they will show _Rear Window_ and technically, that’s neo-noir and it has Grace Kelly, so I thought —“

“I don’t think Nate would be into that,” she cuts him off.

“Not sporty enough for him, huh?”

“Well, that and he also doesn’t really care for movies made before the 80s. Unless it has nuns in it,” Blair smirks playfully. “Well, one nun specifically.” Dan is still looking at her, as if this tidbit of information wasn’t the great blackmail material she was easily giving away. “Anyway, I don’t think Serena would enjoy it either. She can't be seated still for longer than two hours.” 

“Then it could just be the two of us,” he stammers, unsure of himself. “As friends, of course.” 

“Of course,” Blair nods.

Dan just keeps looking at her, and Blair is not sure what else to say. So she holds her books tighter and prays for the bell to ring. 

“Is it a yes?” he asks. 

“It isn’t a no,” she says and tries to move away. But he stops her before she is able to do so, his hand on her elbow. 

Dan waits for her to look back at him and, when she does, he picks up an envelope from his back pocket, puts it on top of her books.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“A letter. I assume you’re familiar with the concept?” 

Blair gulps, an electric shock running down her spine. 

“I suppose you want me to give this to Serena,” she manages to spit out.

Dan just looks at her, the same way has been doing this entire time, like her presence alone was too much for him, overwhelming. He then smiles at her, and it feels like he is sharing some sort of secret.

Blair looks down at the letter, wrapped in a crumpled up envelope that is obviously too big for Dan's pocket. 

When she looks back up, he's already gone.

*

They never make it to the movies. 

Blair is too afraid someone would recognize the two of them and draw the wrong conclusions, so she explains her concerns to Dan and refuses the invite. Dan finds it funny; can’t really wrap his head around how she can think people would be so interested in her life to the point of stalking. Still, he doesn’t press on the subject and is rewarded with a call later in the week. 

They still watch _Rear Window_ together, only through the phone, each one at their own house. They talk throughout all of it and Blair is happy they didn’t go to the festival, after all. It's not always she has someone to talk about the movie with and she knows she would not have the guts to do so during a screening, the theater too much of a sacred place for her to do that. 

Not long after, Serena tells her to stop with the letters, Blair's help not needed anymore since she and Dan can now just talk to each other. Blair, however, has no idea what they could possibly talk about, having never seen such an incompatible couple in her whole life. If Blair were to ask Dorota, she would hear as an answer a polish saying about young love that doesn’t make much sense when translated in English, so Blair doesn't ask. 

Serena’s change of plans, however, gives Blair the courage to open the last letter, the one Dan delivered in person. She knows that, history being considered, the letter was for Serena. However, the way Dan smiled at her said otherwise. And the _Dear Blair_ scribbled on top of the paper confirmed her suspicion.

After she answers him, the letters start showing up in her locker. They aren’t love letters, though; they are just letters. In which they talk about everything and nothing at all: art, literature, the weird shift in the dynamic of their respective parents, their hopes and dreams. It’s not the same, the things they are going through but, somehow, by sharing them, Blair feels less alone while going through them. 

Dan’s letters always come as if they passed through a hurricane first: creased paper, words crossed out, terrible handwriting. It is like his mind works faster than his body; he has so much to say and his fingers just can't keep up with, can't possibly write that fast. Blair jokes, once, that they should just stop with all of it, because she can barely understand what he writes. His next letter comes up typed. 

Blair terribly misses the intimate feel of a handwritten letter and comes up with a horrible, obviously made-up, excuse about being allergic to the cheap printer ink Dan uses. Dan, of course, sees right through it, but comes back to the handwritten letters on the next day, albeit in a less chaotic form than before. 

Before, when somewhat pretending to be Serena, Blair used to write twice. First to put everything she wanted to say down in a jumbled up of emotions and half-formed phrases; a first draft. The second time was when she would make sense of everything, when she would neatly scribe on the pale pink paper with intent. Now she doesn’t edit herself anymore, concluding that whatever she writes, she writes for a reason. And she lets Dan read it all. 

She couldn't possibly give more than that; herself, unfiltered. 

Of course, it can’t last.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Lucy Rose's Our Eyes
> 
> oh, I'm on tumblr as andthatscanon if you want to say hi!


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